When Beasts Howl
by Amzilla
Summary: Four men bound by their inner struggles, twisted fantasies and their wish to silence the voices in the back of their head. When imagination isn't enough anymore, they decide to take the next step. Mainly America centered. Human names used. Warnings inside. Disclaimer: Hetalia is not and will never be mine, unfortunately...
1. Prologue

**Hi, It's been a while you guys!**

**This is my first Hetalia fanfic I will be submitting but ****_god_****, don't think this is my first APH fanfic.**

**I'm an impulsive writer, so I don't have a plan of writing, nor do I have any idea what I will be doing with this story. I first thought this would be a simple oneshot but I just kept writing and I have decided this is my prologue! The outcome will be as much of a surprise to me as to you. I really appreciate your ideas and critiques, that way I can improve and adapt to what you like!**

**As for the warnings in this story:** **Graphic murders, language, possible adult themes in later chapter and self-harm**

**If you can't handle any of these themes, I suggest you read a different story~**

**have fun!**

**xxx Amber**

_Slender fingers stroked the rough surface of the concrete, unpainted walls of the abandoned building. It was to be demolished soon, the floor covered with shattered glass, dust and some stains which the average person would rather not study from up close. The entries were all locked but that never really stopped some people to enter the building, though no human within their right minds would even try to._

_The building held an eerie feeling to it, during day people avoided looking at it and during night there was barely anyone walking past in, here, in the outskirts of the town. Those who did walk by after sunset could swear they heard the humming of a voice, a song perhaps. Some, if they were to listen really closely, could even hear actual words from the darkness._

A lone male in a long, dark coat walks into the building just minutes after dusk had fallen. His eyes are hidden by his slightly too long, blond bangs. It would be best if his thoughts stayed that way too, hidden, never seeing light. Beneath the strands of hair, blue eyes shine in their own special way, a lonely way. His eyes are wide open, as if he had just seen a body fall from plain sky, as if he had just seen someone's heart fall out. The corners of his mouth are pointed upwards ever so slightly, into a charming smile, a fake smile nonetheless.

"Ah, Alfred, it appears that today too, you have, finally, decided to join us." A tall shadow slides across the ground. Following the shadow, a pair of neat shoes appear in Alfred's line of sight. His head slowly raises, examining the other man.

Sandy blond hair surrounding his hair, Arthur pulls the corners of his mouth into a slight smile, never reaching his emerald eyes. His eyes are slightly dull, but at the same time they're so specially decorated with little hints of mint green and soft forest green like the art of a painter's skilled paintbrush, overly detailed in the irises but the deep black that holds Arthur's pupils never reflect the light as much as much as any other's would, as if they suck up the light, the happiness, the hope.

"Yep, You must be delighted to be in such awesome presence such is my own. Better late than never, right?" The words easily spill from Alfred's lips, permanently chapped from the twisted grin that always seem to reside on them. Arthur smiles again, a bit wider this time, the corners of his mouth twitch as he truly tries to push happiness up his eyes.

That's what Alfred likes so much about Arthur. He keeps trying, though he knows the happiness will never reach his eyes. He keeps fighting, maybe once the smile will be genuine, though everyone around them knows that Arthur will never be able to defeat his maddening depression, just like Alfred is never going to be able to control his sickening imagination.

Arthur takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, as if preparing himself for what he's about to say.

"Listen, Alfred..." Arthur interrupts himself by dragging Alfred further inside, meeting the others; Francis and Matthew.

Matthew, A young male about Alfred's age. His hair is honey blond, with a slight red or pink glow to it. Matthew's eyes are blue with specks of violet in them, his glasses acting as a way to hide the intense, cold feeling you get when you look him straight in his eyes and act as though it's just his glasses.. Matthew wears his usual red sweater, which Alfred suspects is to hide blood stains or something, and a pair of worn out jeans.

Francis on the other hand is dressed very stylish, wearing a black pair of skinny jeans and a white button-up shirt, who in their right minds would wear white on occasions like these? Well... Francis isn't truly right in his mind but still. On Francis' lips lays a gentle, warm smile and his ocean blue eyes shine with relief when Alfred appears to be safe.

"Alfred, mon cher~! I'm so glad you made it, I was getting worried." Francis' hips sway from left to right just slightly when walking over in his black army styled boots.

"Now that we're all here, I have something to say." Arthur says, catching Matthew's attention too.

"I... just talking about it with you guys is not enough anymore. We've been imagining it for such a long time, planning every step and telling each other just how to we would do it. It's time." Arthur let's out a sight at the end of his short speech. Matthew nods enthusiastically, Alfred gives a curt nod and Francis... Francis opens his mouth.

"You're right, Arthur. It's time for the real deal. I do not get enough out of pictures or stories anymore."

"So... from tomorrow on... we'll be killers?" Alfred asks, his stomach tingling in excitement slightly.

So are all of them sick? Ill-minded people? Probably, yes.

Arthur with his depression, the illness that has been tormenting his mind for years now, feeling as if there is a hole where his heart should be. The pain he feels near unbearable on some days, pulling out his hair, scratching his skin, anything if the pain just stops existing for a while.

Francis with his bipolar personality disorder, during the manic 'highs' he thinks of himself as grande, able to commit any murder without getting caught, the irritability flooding his veins with gunpowder. During his depressed periods he curls up and deems himself as downright insane, dragging himself down in any way possible.

Matthew is just a downright sociopath. He knows he's different, he doesn't care. He used to be different. He used to be kind, compassionate, caring. But the death of his parents and the pain his so called friends put him through changed something in him. Slowly, at first he didn't notice the urge to grab someone's throat and watch the life drain away. When he did, it was too late already. He had changed, that's what life does to people.

Alfred is different. He's not ill, at least not that he knows of. Yes, he feels the loneliness course through him like a river. Yes, he feels life slowly eating his sanity away from the inside. Yes, he feels horrible about the death of his twin and best friend in a car accident he could have prevented if he tried hard enough. Yes, he feels different from the rest of the world, like he's on a completely different wavelength than them. Is he sick? Does he have a personality disorder? He doesn't know, he never went to see a therapist. What was there to see anyway? Just an ordinary boy, dying on the inside while being molten into someone he isn't by society.

They're all simply looking for a way to silence the howling beast inside.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hi guys! Wow, two followers, a favourite and one comment already! I was so overjoyed I couldn't help but post this chapter early... I was actually planning on one chapter every week but but but I just couldn't wait.**

**bye~**

Alfred pulls at his long sleeved, black shirt the next day, or night. His golden hair neatly combed but that one strand of hair defying the rest. That's what they were, the four of them. They were defying everyone else, who pretend to be ordinary, who pretend there's nothing wrong in their heads. They were doing what they wanted, to feel better, to feel free from anxiety and the chains of society.

"Excuse me, dude, guy-sir?" Alfred calls out at a lone male walking on the sideway. The man turns around, he looks pretty huge, but that's just how Alfred likes it.

"Dude, I was wondering if you could point me the way to the city center. I'm not from around here and I'm supposed to meet up with my bro there." The lies slip from his mouth as if he reversed this and he isn't making everything up at that moment.

"Oh really? You're not even close to the center. You got off the wrong bus stop, da?" A long scarf covers half of the man's mouth, but shows just enough to see that the man is smiling. There's something off with that smile, it sets alarm bells off in the back of Alfred's head but he pushes it away, he's the one that should be making alarm bells ring.

"Yeah, I can't be late though, hero's don't arrive late! Ahaha!" Alfred feels the need to snarl, hiss. Why is it that people feel most comfortable with this attitude? It's sickening to Alfred.

"Well, I could give you a lift, the next bus doesn't arrive until…" He checks his watch. "Nine AM, that's 22 minutes from now."

Alfred squints. A complete stranger offering him a lift, that's certainly not ordinary. That's not a part of the plan either. Alfred casually looks around him to see if he sees any of the group, but to no avail. They were all supposed to take care of their own victim, bring them to the pick-up truck two blocks away and from there on they'd bring them to the building, well except for Francis. Francis takes the victim to his apartment.

"Ah dude, that doesn't sound like an awesome plan to me, Heroes don't get in a car with a stranger!" He pastes a grin on his face and grips the needle in his pocket. It seem he has to move to plan B.

"You're scared, da? I get that a lot. Is it because I'm Russian? Or is it because I'm quite a bit taller than you?" The smile on his face doesn't twitch even a bit, his violet eyes looking straight into Alfred's sky blue ones.

"No dude, I'm not scared." Alfred's grin slips from his face, his face now deadly serious as he takes another step towards the Russian. A shadow falls over Alfred's face but his sky blue eyes shine like nuclear waste. It makes

"It's just that I'm supposed to be the predator today." Before the man with the pale hair knows what Alfred means with that, Alfred has stabbed him in the neck with the needle and injects the fluid in his vein.

Alfred is the type of guy who would get intimate with the victim, then kill with a knife, watching blood flow over his fingers as his face is close to the theirs, kissing them goodbye in the end. Alfred is the type of guy who would carve all sorts of apologies in the victim's body as a message to the family. He doesn't kill to hurt others, he kills out of curiosity, to silence the beast too.

When the Russian awakes, he finds himself tied up in some dark building, a dirty rag in his mouth to prevent him from shouting or talking. His mind is foggy, he tries to blink the fuzzy feeling of artificial sleep away from his head.

"You're awake! Took you long enough, big guy." Alfred says, looking at the man he met earlier that night. The pale haired man squints. Slowly, events were coming back to him now.

"You were fucking heavy, you know that? But I know that my efforts will pay off. I like it when they're bigger." A grin forms on Alfred's lips, but not a warm one, not anymore. It's not creepy enough to send shivers up and down Ivan's spine, not yet.

Alfred takes the rag from the man's mouth, leaving a bitter taste of dirt and maybe motor oil in his dry cave. He coughs.

"I'm Alfred. I dunno why I'm telling you that but I expect to hear yours too." Alfred bends over, his face near the other's. There's something in the American's eyes, something he recognises. The way his eyes never reflect the little light that is there, it looks like lost sanity and a maddened soul.

"It's Ivan. Usually I am the one in your position. It feels weird to have the tables turned, da? I was actually hunting before~" Ivan manages to crack a soulless smile, the one Alfred saw of him earlier.

"Did I ask you to tell me a story? Well whatever," He takes a Swiss knife from his pocket. "I'll cut out your tongue if you do that again." Alfred shows him the shiny, sharp blade. He lays it against Ivan's cheek. His hand trembles slightly through his confident demeanour.

"Nice pipe you brought with you, but I'm not into blunt objects. I suppose it'll serve well as a prize." Ivan frowns, his pipe was his, no one was allowed to touch it. The ones who touches it were always on the receiving end of a blow. It makes him twitch knowing that another aggressor took it without paying the price for it. He hisses sharply.

"Don't even make a sound, big guy." He lowers the knife to the trousers Ivan is wearing and cuts them off in a few swift movements. Ivan bites his tongue not to gasp in surprise. He was expecting torture, mind games or just a gory murder, not sex.

Alfred picks up the big Russian easily and places him against a wall. He takes something small out of his pocket with one hand while lifting the struggling Russian's tied up hands to secure them on a hook higher up the wall with the other. Ivan wants to kick, scream, break free, but the moment those possibilities shoot through his mind he feels the cold blade against his throat.

"Don't even fucking think about it you filthy Russki." And with those venomous words he steps out of his trousers and shows him another injection needle. The Russian freezes. No, this can't be what he thinks it is. The small needle holds a transparent but yellow coloured liquid.

"This might sting a little. This is a lovely, illegal, aphrodisiac I got off a dear… friend of mine." Alfred looks at the needle and grins wickedly, visualising just how the bigger one will beg for him to take him. Ivan on the other hand tries to pull away harshly, his attempted struggle to no avail as he's still stuck on that hook.

Ivan almost doesn't feel the needle puncturing his vein, but when the liquid is injected he yells loudly, the liquid burns its way through his veins, it feels like he's on fire from within!

"I'll be back in half an hour, when the drug has started working and all~" Alfred says, turning around and humming something to himself with that awfully smooth smile on his lips.

**Oh I'm _so_ sorry about the cliffhanger... hue hue hue**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi there guys! I did keep my speed this time, it's been about a week, right? 9 Days before my birthdaaay! I better have lots of fun because I'll be turning 16!**

**Fierysuzaku, thank you so much for both your reviews, they make me really happy!  
Well anyways, i hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you because I worked *insert swearword starting with an F here* hard on this (I'm not so good when it comes to the lemon part, probs because I'm fairly shy about the whole idea myself)**

**I won't waste your time any longer, go ahead and reeeaaad~**

**Hetalia is not mine**

Ivan groans in discomfort as the aphrodisiac starts heating up his body, mostly just his private regions though. He feels more blood flow towards his soon to be fully erect member and pants ever so slightly, his cheeks flushed with arousal. He's still wearing his shirt and his boxershorts, his member pressing against the cloth painfully. He starts sweating ever so slightly. Wasn't it freezing just ten minutes ago? Why does he feel like it's the middle of the summer now?

"A-Ah…" He moans, pained by his inability to get off. Anything would be welcome now, any friction, even rubbing against a wall, but since his hands are bound on that hook and his legs are tied up apart from each other, all he can do is wait it out.

Is this the American's way of torture, he wonders as he clenches his teeth, trying to ignore his arousal. He struggles to get out of the robes binding him, but he notices that the more he struggles, the tighter they get.

His throbbing erection honestly distracts him from what he should be focussing on; which should be escaping. A conflicted moan escapes his lips, he would do anything for a good fuck right now, he _needs _to get a rough and hard one. His mind flows to everyone he knows, the people he fucked before and the people he still wants to fuck. A weak snort slips, he guesses he won't be filling up that bucket list now.

After a while Alfred, now shirtless _and_ pantsless, walks back into the empty space Ivan is held captive, a dark smile on his face once he sees the Russian flushed red and writhing in the grip of the ropes.  
"Enjoying yourself, Ivan?" Alfred asks, standing before him. The Russki only mutters something unintelligible in response, by now too affected by the drug to answer in a proper fashion.

Alfred grabs a tight hold of his victim's jaw and forced a lustful kiss onto him. His knee strokes the painfully hard member of the other, maybe a bit too harsh as Ivan squirms in pain. He plays a bit with the knife in his hand before cutting the boxershorts and shirt of the other off, earning a pleased moan in response.

The American wastes no time and cuts right to the case, just looking at the Russian practically begging for him already half erected him.  
"Please, I be-beg of you…" Ivan says, struggling to stick to English.  
"You beg of me what?" The knife subtly strokes the pale skin, an amused grin on his face when he sees tiny red stripes appear on his chest, his sky blue eyes emitting some kind of intoxicating poison.  
"…" The Russ bites down on his lips, pressing the words out. "_fuck me._" He mutters huskily.

No preparation, no lube, just raw penetration. Alfred hears his Russian yell out in pain. He presses through the tight ring of muscles and enters him fully. Tears form into Ivan's eyes, the invasion hurt so much but the friction against his penis feels _so good. _Alfred thrusts violently in him a few times before The pain oozes out of Ivan's body and it gets replaced with raw pleasure.

"Alfred! Please, there!" Ivan screams when Alfred hits his prostate. The American's thrusts get deeper, fully sheathed in Ivan's warmth. Alfred's soft but skilled hands touch Ivan's member, strokes randomly added through the fast pumping.  
"Again!" Ivan shouts, he had never know he was a screamer himself, he always figured he was more of a moaner, but it appears that he is not.

Occasionally, nearing the end, Alfred lets out a pleased moan, a nice change from Ivan's yells when his prostate is hit.  
Another thing Ivan never knew about himself was that he had a masochistic side to him. Maybe because of the change of dominance and the aphrodisiac his entire personality had a 180. Alfred's knife sometimes pokes him in the middle of a shout, not deep enough to cause a lot of bleeding but not shallow enough to lack that feeling of stabbing someone to Alfred.

Alfred keeps his sharp eyes open the entire times, where he sees his Russian's eyes fluttering closed all the time. He loves the dominance, knowing that he is the one who tamed this big guy, making him scream and plead for him. Alfred's heart races not just because of the rough fuck but also because of the adrenaline, the kick this gives him.

"Fredka!" When Ivan's warm inside tighten around his member, finishes all over their stomachs and he lets out a long howl of Alfred's name, Alfred's knife digs into the warm flesh deeper than before, it's just muscle though, an upper leg. Ivan's howl is one of relief, pleasure but also one of immense pain, Alfred has never heard something more beautiful as that. He too, finishes soon and pulls himself out.

_Maybe I'll keep him…_

A voice in Alfred's head says, but it causes him to laugh into Ivan's neck, which he had just bitten.  
"Th-that was the best sex I've ever had…" Ivan admits, blushing furiously when he remembers the incredibly painful position he's tied up in. The sharp stings from his legs cloud his mind as much as the afterglow of the fuck they just had.  
"Yeah, same here." Alfred mumbles into Ivan's ear before moving his lips to meet the pink Russian ones. Two lips merge together and their tongues play a final game of afterpassion.  
Ivan's heart thuds heavily when the American's lips on his own curl into a sick smirk, the corners of them pointed upwards in an ungodly manner. He can't see the smirk but it causes shivers to trail his spine.

_Haha, just kidding._

The voice says.  
"Thanks, Ivan." Alfred mumbles against Ivan's lips. His voice is cold as ice, a shitload of snow is thrown in Ivan's face, metaphorically speaking, and he opens his violet eyes, meeting blue ones, as blue and insane as Ivan imagines the cold hellfire to be.  
"You were a good first." He says, before the sharp blade cuts right through Ivan's ribcase.

Ivan gasps for ear, not able to use his voice due to his lung now flooding with his own blood. Alfred strokes his fingers over the gash, his hands drowning in the red liquid so magical and addicting.

Alfred pulls his arm back and a laugh is heard.

_"__Goodbye, you fucking whore." _He laughs when jamming the knife straight into Ivan´s thudding heart. Ivan leaves while watching the scariest expression he has ever seen wishing him goodbye.


	4. Chapter 3

**Hi hiiiiii~ Am I late? I hope I'm not late! I feel like the ending was a bit forced... I hope you guys like it! Thank you, once again, for your review, fierysuzaku! I won't hold you up any longer, enjoy~**

**xxx Amzilla**

Alfred happily licks the blood off his hands, well, contently licks the blood off his hands. It feels great to have someone else's blood on his hands, someone that is not himself. He hums a slow tune, but a happy one. He puts on his underwear first, uncomfortable being naked for long.

"Alfred."  
No response.  
"Alfred you wanker stop ignoring me and clean your bloody mess up. Literally." Arthur gains a laughing sound from that sentence and he sees Alfred rise from the shadows, fully dressed.

"So what was his name?" Alfred asks. In response, Arthur raises one of his _huge _eyebrows.  
"I don't know, actually. But he had the most annoying Spanish accent when he spoke." Arthur grumbles. He rubs his forehead.

"Do you feel bad about it? Killing someone, I mean." He asks while his American… companion cleans the lifeless body up. There's something itching under his skin, anxiously scraping of his sanity and it's so bad. So filthy to have taken someone's life and enjoyed it. So greedy.  
"No. Well not yet anyway, I expected guilt and stuff, but yeah… you know?" Alfred's words are a bit blurry to Arthur. As if he's hearing them through water. _Disgusting monsters they are, filth trash of the streets._

"What about you, bro?" Alfred follows the Brit through the halls with silent footsteps.  
"I feel horrible. I feel horrible for not feeling bad about it." Arthur says, making sure that Alfred can't see his face which is twisted in emotions such as disgust, pain and anxiety. _Good good you should burn for this sin. Alfred too he's gross for not feeling guilty._

"Well I'm sorry you-" Alfred's words get cut off.  
"Just don't speak about it. I'm calling Francis, go look for Matthew or something. Do something useful."  
"Geez Arthur, could've been a bit gentler."  
"You raped and killed a man I don't think you deserve to get a gentle treatment."

Alfred kicks a wall out of frustration, a deep frown on his face. Arthur was so cold to him! Okay, so he can understand that the Englishman might not want to talk about it right now, but he could at least have been less rude about it. Alfred had been so pleased with the calm feeling rushing through him and that Brit just had to ruin it by acting like a dickhead.

"Mattie, are you done yet?!" Alfred shouts when kicking in the door to where the Canadian would be, only to find it empty.  
"That fucking _fuck_…" Alfred mutters, stomping around to look for him in the other rooms on the floor.

Meanwhile at Matthew's, he snickers in twisted fun, watching his victim writhe under his blade.  
"Gilbert, eh?" He giggles in the albino's ear. The only response he gets is a muffled groan. The blade once again tears through the muscled, pale back. He strokes tattered flesh with his bare fingers, it looks like grinded meat,_ does it taste like that too he wonders,_ only so, so much bloodier.

"I know you don't like it… but I do~" He mutters. He wishes he could hold on to the apparent German for longer, _so much longer_, but Matthew can see his playmate slipping away due to blood loss under his hands.  
"Just a bit longer, German. I have one more toy I want to try on you." Matthew says, grabbing something from his bag. Matthew knows he's sick but it's just _so much fun when they cry._

Gilbert mumbles something.  
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Matthew asks while boiling water in an old boiler he brought from his house.  
"Prussian… I'm P-Prussian, not German…" Gilbert coughs out. Matthew laughs loudly, putting the boiling hot water in a larger injection needle.  
"Well excuse me, _eh?_" He giggles, bringing the injection needle up to Gilbert's neck. Gilbert flinches, but he doesn't have the energy to struggle anymore, the black spots dance on his vision.

"This will sting a little~" Matthew says when puncturing an articular vein with the needle and adding the boiling water with Gilbert's blood. Gilbert **screams**_. _He screams until he feels tiny veins in his eyes pop, until he's sure he's inflated a lung, but the pain doesn't go away.

Matthew licks his lips when looking at the _Prussian_ screaming. One more injection, just one more and he'll finish his toy. Just _one one more. _

Alfred hears the screaming coming from one floor down and he grinds his jaws together. Matthew must be having the time of his life down there while Alfred was just pointlessly walking around, pissing himself off over little things, like that annoying pear that keeps going on and off, causing an irritating feeling to Alfred's eyes.

"Matthew, hurry up already." Alfred says when intruding on the Canadian's moment. Gilbert is almost gone, not even having the energy to scream or move. It just isn't fun anymore when they stop moving. Matthew sends Alfred a glare, a venomous one _don't don't don't interrupt me. _Matthew grabs the big chopper and stares at it, _the way it whispers to him is so beautiful_, swiftly, he lifts up the butcher blade and grins at Gilbert, who has just one eye open now.

A skill separated from brain to chin looks much much better that in just one piece. Blood on a pale skin looks _pretty pretty _because of the contrast. Alfred stands against the wall, watching Matthew finish it. Looks so good but feels so much better to do it yourself. Matthew turns around to Alfred and drops the butcher knife, staring at him with those wide, funnily coloured eyes.

"You look hot covered in blood." Alfred states and turns his back to the Canadian. Matthew walks to the door, where Alfred is standing.

"We should do this again."  
"Arthur looked pretty disgusted by himself." What, you think he hadn't noticed? Alfred sees _everything._  
"But you liked this."  
"So did you." Alfred takes a few jerrycans of acid and lays the three bodies in a large plastic bath before drowning them in the fluid.

_Well not drowing, I mean they're already dead._

"I found Matthew and disposed of the bodies." Alfred states when walking out of the house with the usually silent Matthew on his tail.  
"Do something else I'm thinking."  
"You're not thinking you're self-hating. He's dead, get over it." Alfred is usually not this mean but he'll make an exception for the _killjoy._

"Bleeding hell Alfred what's wrong with you?" Arthur scowls after Alfred forced him in the car, only him, Matthew got in voluntarily.  
"Oh nothing, I mean it's not as if I'm pissed off about _someone _acting like a total dickhead and ruining my rush." He spats at Arthur with a glare that could kill.  
Arthur scowls at him and snorts just after.  
"You're behaving like a child, a cruel _cruel _child for not feeling anything after brutally murdering someone." He spits. Matthew's eyes widen at the turn of events and the cold words from Arthur.

Alfred frowns and grips the steering wheel, anger rising up to push against his skin, waiting to explode.  
"_Fuck _you_, _Arthur_,_" He hisses dangerously soft. "because you have _no right _to go off at me like you are. You have no right to because _it was you who crossed the line first. _This is all_ your own fucking fault._" He continues. He starts up the truck and presses the gas into the bottom of the car, the engine roaring as it pulls up like a set of horses racing.

Alfred is still digging his nails into the wheel as it stays quiet after his accusation. So flammable, so easy to explode, Alfred knows he is.

_I could kill him._

_No, no I can't. Arthur's my friend._

_Arthur is an asshole. I can at least punch him._

He squints, unable to focus on the road with the beast woken up once again. He can't concentrate and calm down with Arthur's scent everywhere, he's right next to him!  
"Alfred, we should pull over." A calm voice says from the back seat; Matthew.  
"Why." It's not a question, it's a demand. He demands to know why he should pull over.  
"You're gonna crash the car like this." Alfred snaps his head back, frowning.  
"Shut up Matthew, you don't even own a licence." That shuts Matthew up, indeed, the eighteen year old doesn't own a licence.

After some mocking snorts and muttered insults from Arthur, Alfred stops the car and jumps out, not even bothering to close the door.  
"Al? Where are you going?" Matthew calls after him.  
"None of your fucking business, just make that British asshole drive because he seems to know everything _so much _better than me!" Alfred shouts back, walking away with steam practically coming from his ears.

"It's not my truck, I don't care how they get home."

_I do care though…_

"No I don't."

_Yes I do…_

He turns around and starts walking back to the car, seeing that Arthur has left, Alfred is actually glad, but Matthew is still waiting outside.  
"Come bro, I'll get you home." He mumbles and gets back in.  
"But what about Arthur?"  
"Fuck Arthur, he already left anyways. Fuck him. _Fuck. Him._"  
"… I get it, calm your shit, let's go home, I'm cold."


End file.
